


Though your sorrows not...

by ZombieGiraffes



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Spoilers, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1199436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieGiraffes/pseuds/ZombieGiraffes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short scenes of Aramis and Porthos looking after Athos, not that Athos recognises that as what they're doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though your sorrows not...

Athos leans back with a gasp that Porthos happily captures with his own lips. “Talented isn’t he?” Porthos chuckles, leaning back again so that Athos lies comfortably trapped against his chest.

Athos rumbles out some sort of agreement, and looks down towards Aramis, knelt between his thighs, eyes closed in rapt concentration, lips wrapped around Athos’ cock. It’s a sight to behold, the intensity with which Aramis works with his wicked mouth. As Athos watches him, Aramis’ eyes flick open to look up through dark lashes, and seem to laugh at him. It only makes Athos groan again, and Aramis laves his tongue around the head of his cock in response.

Porthos jostles him forward as he leans around him, takes Athos’ hand in his, and wraps it into Aramis’ hair. “No need to be so cautious with him,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on Aramis’ “He likes a little violence,” he finishes with a chuckle. It’s obviously some kind of shared joke, the way Aramis rolls his eyes at that, but given the way he moans around Athos’ cock when Porthos presses him down, it is also not entirely untrue.

Porthos lets go of his hand, leaving it wound into Aramis’ hair, and leans back again, sweeping a hand over Athos’ side as he does, and pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

Athos groans and drops his head back. Like this, held between them both, he can almost forget everything that plagues him and just be blissfully in this moment.

*

Aramis drops into the chair beside him, and pulls the bottle from Athos’ grasp. Athos goes to protest at first, but Aramis pours from the bottle and into a glass, which he then hands back to Athos. Athos nods at him in thanks, because he supposes he has a point.

“If you continue staring at the boy like that I’m sure you shall set the entire place alight,” Aramis says conversationally, as he pours himself a glass.

Athos shoots him a glare, though there is no venom behind it, not truly, “What are you talking about?” He snaps.

Aramis tilts his head in the direction Athos had been looking before he arrived, where D’Artagnan stands talking animatedly to Porthos, “Our new friend; the way you look at him leaves little to the imagination, Athos,”

Athos shakes his head in half hearted denial, “He’s a boy, Aramis, who’d be better off staying away from the likes of me,”

Aramis leans in closer, to murmur “That’s not a denial, Athos. I know that look too well, I have been on the receiving end of it, while you and Porthos both fucked me,”

“ _Aramis_ ,” Athos hisses, shooting him a look.

Aramis laughs and leans back, “Calm down Athos, no one but you and I listening,”

Athos glances around, then back at D’Artagnan, who is still talking happily to Porthos, though Porthos is looking at them with a slight smirk on his lips, as if he knows what they are talking of. He turns back to Aramis, who grins, and Athos cannot help but think of him laid out before him, possibly begging, or maybe quiet for once.

“Come on,” Aramis says with a chuckle, taking Athos by the elbow and pulling him up, “We should get home,” He says it in such a way, with such a grin, that he makes it clear what he really means.

“And Porthos?”  

“He’ll find us,” Aramis chuckles, and leads Athos out.

*

After Bonnaire, and after Porthos’ wound, Aramis refuses to converse with Athos alone, still nursing a wound over Athos’ original insistence that Porthos could wait. He understands that, knows that Aramis’ loyalty, while strong, extends first to Porthos.

He watches him sling an arm around Porthos and lead him away into the night, leaving Athos and D’Artagnan alone. Porthos will talk him around, and Aramis will forgive him quickly enough. Being party to treason will certainly secure a friendship.

He looks at D’Artagnan, thinks of taking him home, thinks of him in the glow of the burning house, of him seeing Athos like that, of him knowing everything, of Anne, and turns away instead.

*

“You still look at him as if you want to devour him,” Aramis says with a yawn, stretching languidly across the bed. Athos runs his knuckles over his bare ribs, takes a moment to appreciate him naked and relaxed, but ignores what he said.

“He’s not wrong,” Porthos rumbles from his other side, as he twines his legs with Athos’ , affectionate, but also essentially pinning him to the bed.

Athos sighs in annoyance, and rolls to lie on his back, “You are both ruining this for me,” he grumbles.

Porthos leans up on one elbow over him, “We’re just jealous,” he deadpans at him, and Athos rolls his eyes at him, while Aramis’ laughter shakes the bed.

“Are you going to bed the man or not?” Aramis asks when his laughter subsides, rolling to press his chin into Athos’ shoulder, and twine his fingers with Porthos’ over Athos’ stomach.

Athos looks at their joined hands over him, and the way they look at each other, and tries not to feel the need to flee. He knows he’s the third in this arrangement, and is quite at ease with that being the way of things, he doesn’t want the entanglements of anything more, could do without that ever again, and yet-

He shakes his head, “Madam Bonacieux would be a far better match,” he murmurs, unconvinced even to his own ears.

Porthos raises an eyebrow “Apart from the fact she’s a married woman,” he says slowly, as if Athos is a fool.

“And yet she would still be a better match than I,” Athos responds firmly, closing his eyes.

Aramis, having unwound his hand from Porthos’, winds his fingers into Athos’ hair, and rubs his head gently, “Well,” he says softly, pressing a kiss over Athos’ heart, “Until we manage to talk some sense into you, you shall be stuck with Porthos and I,”

“A terrible fate,” Athos agrees, eyes still screwed shut, as Porthos tips his chin up with a knuckle to kiss him.

“You’ll survive,” Porthos rumbles, and all three of them know he is saying more than just those simple words.

“Perhaps,” Athos whispers.

“You will,” Porthos says firmly, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from E. E. Cumming's poem.
> 
> Also titled: "This has no plot, it's just a series of scenes of Aramis and Athos and Porthos either thinking about sex, talking about sex, and Athos thinking about D'Artagnan," as I rambled to my Tumblr.


End file.
